Give It No Name
by sithmarauder
Summary: "You," Spain whispered at last, lifting his gaze to meet Austria's head on. "Cariño, you fool, he loves you." SpAus, one-sided PruAus.


_The unofficial, non-canon sequel to _A Seat for the Guest Unknown_. I generally headcanon (and hint at) Austria as knowing Prussia's in love with him, but then my brain went, "but what if he was somehow oblivious and thought Prussia loved Spain like a dumbass," hence the 'unofficial' label. And so here we are. It takes place immediately after the events of the last fic, so you might want to read that one first in order to understand what's going on._

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_**Give It No Name**_

He was aware, in an absent sort of way, that most people assumed that living with Prussia brought about all kinds of noise and disruptions. The disruptions part might have been true, Austria supposed, but the fact of the matter was that save for the times when he was riled up, or drinking with Germany, Prussia was a relatively quiet man with a neat streak a mile wide, and so in the wake of his abrupt exit, the house lapsed into a confused silence that was only broken when Austria sighed and went to retrieve his book.

"_Cariño,_" Spain murmured, and when Austria felt a light touch to his shoulder he pressed his mouth into a thin line. Truthfully, he did not wish to think about what Prussia had just inadvertently revealed, not in the least because something seemed… _off_ about the revelation. All the time in the world, and—

The light touch became a more insistent hold, and Austria turned to meet Spain's unwavering gaze with a small frown. There was something lurking there, just under the surface, and when Spain cast a dark look to where Prussia had stood only minutes prior Austria raised an eyebrow, letting out a low, considering hum. He did not always pretend to understand the dynamic Spain had with France and Prussia, nor the dynamic Prussia had with France and Spain—a strange thing that had been born of warfare and necessity and deep, aching hurts that had spelled the inevitable destruction of Austria's own empire. He merely acknowledged it, and then pushed it as far from his mind as he dared in the interest of preserving an uneasy peace wherein he and France ignored each other as completely as they dared.

Still, perhaps he should have been paying closer attention if he had somehow managed to miss _this_.

Spain gave a light pull—a suggestion, never a command—and Austria followed without comment. There was no need to play games, not when he knew the discussion that was coming, and so the instant the door to Austria's bedchamber closed he glided ahead of Spain, placing his book on a nearby dresser, keeping his back turned towards the man he had once called _husband_.

"I did not know," Austria said, his tone stiff, and when Spain clicked his tongue in inquiry Austria only exhaled, the sound rough and forced. He thought that would be the end of it, but he was proven wrong when he heard a shift from behind him, followed by the weight of a pair of familiar arms that circled him from behind.

"Didn't know what?" Spain asked, breathing the words against Austria's temple, and despite himself Austria relaxed into the hold. If they had not been so much older, so much more worn down, perhaps he could have pretended they stood in a different time, when the whole world had been theirs for the taking and the mere mention of their combined might had sent old enemies scurrying to non-traditional allies with their tails tucked tight. Sometimes though, in quiet times like this, when it was just the two of them and their combined knowledge of one another, it was like no time had passed at all. He had been able to tell Spain most everything, once, and had been trusted in turn, so after a beat Austria finally turned in Spain's arms, resting his hands against the other's chest, not even bothering to conceal the small, almost bitter smile as said, "that he was in love with you."

For a moment Spain didn't react, allowing Austria to pick absently at the buttons that made up his former husband's new casual wear, but whatever Austria had been thinking Spain would do, he had not expected the man to throw his head back and _laugh_, the sound bright and achingly familiar, if only because he'd heard it so often long ago when trying to bumble his way through the new Spanish court ceremonials he had been so loathe to adopt.

"This is no laughing matter—" Austria started, but he was cut off when Spain's hands found his hips and lifted him into the air, his protest morphing into a startled yelp when Spain spun him around the room, still laughing, only to put him back on the ground and promptly bury his face against Austria's neck, his body still trembling with the force of his mirth. Instinctively, Austria lifted his arms and slid his hands into Spain's hair, fingers snagging on familiar curls. He only gradually became aware that Spain was actually _speaking_, the words muffled by both Austria's skin and the chuckles that he still could not contain, and it wasn't until he actually caught some of Spain's words that he pushed him away, gripping tightly at the man's shoulders with a scowl on his face.

"Oh_, mi tesoro,_" Spain laughed, tears still in his eyes, but there was something else in his expression, something that was both achingly _fond_ but also impossibly dark. "All these years and you still do not know."

"I would if you would stop laughing and tell me," Austria snapped back, but he didn't protest when Spain drew him in again, his arms lifting once more as Spain's own arms curled around his waist.

"Don't be cross," Spain murmured, nipping once at Austria's jawline. Austria sighed.

"I am not cross."

"You are," Spain replied gleefully. "You always were when you felt as though things were alluding you. I remember those first nights in Bologna—"

"Yes, well," Austria cut in, a faint flush rising to his cheeks that he could not blame on the warmth emanating from the nearby fireplace, but underneath the words was the unspoken understanding: _you know me. You always did._

"He's not in love with me," Spain said at last after a few comfortable moments of silence, but the darkness in his eyes was still there when he drew back, echoed in his voice, and while Austria knew the source of Spain's anger was not himself, it made him wary to see it grow so. He remembered a time when such a look would have spelt death and destruction for whoever was unfortunate enough to stand in Spain's path, in _their _path, in the glory days when their kingdoms had been won and their marriage strong, but this was not the golden past, and Prussia, the irritating fool, was Spain's… friend, he supposed.

"Then what?" Austria asked, and he was unprepared for the way Spain's arms tightened around him, or for the way his expression suddenly lost all pretence of play and became one of unwavering intensity, the quirk at the corner of Spain's mouth no longer teasing but wry and bitter. For the first time in years Austria could see the weight of centuries past on Spain's shoulders, the fractures in the soul that had once gleamed so brightly Europe had cowered in its wake, and it made him want to reach out—as he had once been trusted to do—not to smooth over the cracks but almost slip into them himself, the unwavering, cold, stable silver to Spain's brilliant effervescent gold.

"Spain," Austria murmured, feeling Spain's grip tighten further on his hips. Perhaps it would bruise, but Austria found he did not care, instead pressing forward until his chest aligned with Spain's; until they could do naught but breathe in each other's air, exist in each other's space.

"You," Spain whispered at last, lifting his eyes to meet Austria's head on. "_Cariño_, you fool, he loves _you_."

It was a revelation Austria had not expected, and perhaps, once he was alone, it was one he would explore further. The idea that Prussia felt, or could feel, anything for him other than the hatred and disdain he'd made so clear over the centuries was something so alien that Austria would have accused Spain of lying had he not known, with the benefit of years spent together, that Spain had no reason to lie to him; no reason to want to deliberately hurt him. Not now.

"I always wondered," Spain muttered. "All these years, he always _wanted_, and I—"

Austria interrupted him by pressing a brief kiss to the corner of Spain's mouth, watching in satisfaction as the sharp look in the other's eyes faded slightly, becoming the warm moss green he was accustomed to. Then, slowly, he lifted his hands to cup Spain's face, his thumbs brushing over Spain's cheekbones as he pressed their foreheads together, letting his eyes slide shut as he hummed lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest.

"Even if he is," Austria said at last, keeping his voice deliberately soft, "how could I be anything other than Caesar's?"

If the brutality of Spain's answering kiss was anything to go by, it had been the right answer. There would be time to explore Prussia's feelings later, but for now, he let himself get swept up in the embrace of long ago, and as he felt his lower back connect with the dresser, as he felt Spain's teeth desperate at his throat, he allowed himself to let go, to _feel_, and, perhaps, to forget.

The time would come to address the matter. For now, he would surrender himself to the cinders of what had once been, and the satisfaction of Caesar's touch.

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_Since my last SpAus fic was brought to you by my suffering in grad school (you are looking at a lady with a successfully awarded in history as of this past year), I figured it'd be good for this fic to be brought to you by my suffering in law school. I'm going to build a degree shelf. Please help me. Also, anyone else ever notice that Spain never addresses Austria by his name? Stay tuned for more loaded fics about that._

_As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! I don't have near as much time to write as I wish with law school so every single review and every comment is absolutely priceless to me, and it gives me the energy and the muse to write when otherwise I'd just curl up and sleep on my case briefs._


End file.
